


If this is Love...

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: First Time, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, M/M, lgbt community, queer as folk (US ver) au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: Everyone knows Arthur Kirkland is the last man every gay man should ever fall in love with, but Alfred Jones did anyway---and he had been warned! He wasn't sure if it was because of how Arthur was gentle about it--taking his virginity that is---or it really was one of those true love things the girls in his high school likes to  talk about in hushed whispers. Whatever it is, he would hold on to it, and show Arthur that love indeed changes people. For the better.





	1. In Your Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in my hetalia tumblr (aph-nitroplush) but finally decided to post it here because my head hurts. No idea.  
> Each chapter has a different theme and can stand as its own fic. Literally a collection of oneshots mainly focusing on Arthur and Alfred's developing relationship. Timelines tend to jump from the beginning to the end.  
> Heavily inspired by Queer As Folk (the American ver).

               If there was anything everyone would know about Arthur Kirkland was that he doesn’t fuck anyone more than once. He may be the type to---as Gilbert had worded it, multiple times---“fuck anything that moves” but he have standards.

Then Alfred  Jones appears, into the club, the bright neon lights shining upon him, making him glow like a beacon that Arthur couldn’t help himself from being drawn to.

That night Alfred Jones came into the club was also the night he came into his life.

It wasn’t even the kind that poets and writers say in stories, how they “come crashing into”, no. He just casually walked in, a strange look in his face and strange light in his eyes, his posture calm and serene. In the back of Arthur’s mind, he had thought that an angel descended from the heavens.

He didn’t crash into the earth like most did because he chose to go down.

 

               It was kind of hilarious; how a lot of things happened that night he had decided to take him home into his pent house to fuck. His lesbian friend went into labour that same night and as the surrogate father, he was obliged to come over.

And well, Emma was his friend and his friends told him so. He can fuck the kid later, they told him, and they wanted to see the baby!

At first he was annoyed, this could bore his partner and he might end up spending the rest of the night alone, probably doing some work instead of having a good fuck. His schedule for the following week is full with board meetings and paper work, he wouldn’t have the time.

So he turned to Alfred, whose named he had learned not a few moments ago, as he had introduced himself after their hot make out session by the bar’s entrance, his friends looking on with nothing but tired looks in their faces, so used to Arthur’s shameless display of his sexuality. They were in the gayest area in Boston, no one will give a single fuck if they see two men going at it at the front of a gay bar, of all places.

Then he turned his eyes back to his friends, gesturing at the matter at hand---I want to get laid! It appeared that everyone understood the gesture, including Alfred beside him who was all happy smiles, his breath warm in the cool night air as he pants slightly, still short of breath. He seemed to excited, for some reason. He shakes his head, smiling at Arthur’s friends as if he knows them despite seeing them for the first time and says, “I don’t mind.”

Arthur’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he chuckles and casually throws an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “That’s settled then!” He doesn’t even care who said that when they all boarded Arthur’s car and headed to the hospital.

 

               After the commotion at the hospital, Alfred doesn’t seem disturbed one bit about it all. To get to know a man he only went with to have a good night of sex so deeply in a matter of hours, but he did and he took it all in stride.

Back in the car, they couldn’t seem to stop from touching each other, kissing and groping at every chance they’ve got, despite being flanked by Antonio and Francis on both sides in the back seat. When he hears them groan and say “can’t you fucking wait” they just stare into each other’s faces, red and gleeful and then laugh as their lips meet again to suck and lick.

Once he brings Alfred to his pent house, the magic seemed to have gone away. He stood awkwardly in the middle of his living room, looking at the extended kitchen, the king-sized bed and his bedroom on the farther end and his glass-walled shower, fidgeting.

“You’ve got a nice place,” he mutters, his smile still on but not as bright as before. Nervous.

Arthur doesn’t have time for that kind of thing though, so he pulls at Alfred’s hood and drags him to bed. He held out for hours, and now that they’re here, they should do what they came for.

They have sex.

After that first round of gentle sex, that is. Arthur finds out that Alfred’s a virgin in the same breath that he’s a minor. He’s turning seventeen this July, he said, his expression set into one of those annoying faces teenagers make that says “I’m old enough, I know what I’m doing.” Which translates in Arthur’s mind into “I really don’t”, and it shows in Arthur’s face as he stares him down and deadpans, “You’re _sixteen_.”

When he gets nothing as a reply but Alfred’s eyes refusing contact, he sighs deeply and tries to stand up and mess with his hair. He considers kicking the brat out of his pent house, for making him spend the night alone after all. But then Alfred’s hand darts out to grab his, “Wait!” He says.

“I wanted to make sure, so I went there.” Ah, so he’s one of those kids. Arthur wonders slightly to the time he was at the kid’s age, making out with one of his teammates in the locker room. Luckily no one caught them, that is, until his “boyfriend” called him a faggot in the middle of practice and Francis had to jump to the rescue and beat the leaving daylights out of the guy. They both went home to Francis’ mum all sore and bruised along with the news of Arthur being kicked out of the team.

Times sure have changed, huh.

Alfred’s hold on his arm tightens, his eyes boring into his. “I want this.”

“I want you.”

Arthur finds himself sighing again before dropping back into Alfred’s lap, Alfred falling back down, not expecting Arthur’s compliance, probably. His face said he’s prepared to be kicked out half-naked.

So after taking Alfred’s virginity, they spent the rest of the night fucking until they actually passed out from all the orgasm they had. Then the next morning, he ended up fucking Alfred in the shower, pressing his body into the glass walls as he pound into him, Alfred moaning happily as he press his hips into his eagerly.

Somewhere in there, Arthur must have gone wrong.

 

               “When will I see you again?” Alfred asks him, so hopeful and so in love. He said so himself, right in front of Arthur as he’s about to get into his car and leave for work. The kid seemed to have remembered where he lived, to find him again a day later. His friends look on at the window in the back seat, curious to see how things will turn out. Having known Arthur for so long, they should’ve already known, really.

“In your dreams.” He tells him, not feeling any ounce of guilt in his bones as he does so. He even smiles at his direction, in a way that Francis will remark later, as they eat by their favourite snack house, as cruel. With the way the boy’s face crumbled, he crushed his little gay heart. Then as he pulls out in the parking area, he sticks his hand out to wiggle his fingers in the kid’s direction, waving goodbye mockingly because he’s just that cruel.

Well, it wasn’t his fault, in the least.

Of all people, he just had to fall for Arthur Kirkland, doesn’t he?


	2. Prom Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.”

             “Our prom’s coming soon.”

Arthur barely spares Alfred a glance as the teenager barges into their table, his hands slamming down and making their bowls of deserts shake. Contrary to Arthur’s friends though, they jump and groan, giving the boy a light glare as they hold their deserts closer to their persons. At first, they thought it was quite adorable of him to follow Arthur around everywhere he could like a puppy, ignoring Arthur’s dismissive behaviour, telling them that he’ll get Arthur’s heart. Just you wait.

Now though, seeing him in every spots they like to hangout in during their free time to gawk at hot men and act like he’s one of their friends too, it’s getting annoying.

Almost.

When Sunshine’s announcement didn’t do anything to perk Arthur’s attention, he pushes Antonio aside to sit right next to him, twisting his body slightly to be able to scoot closer and put his hand around Arthur’s waist, the other finding its way to his chest, rubbing gentle circles around where he knows Arthur’s nipples will be, in such a way that the other likes to be done to him when they have sex.

He smiles wider to the point where his jaws started to ache, as he feels Arthur slightly lean into him.

“I want you to be my date,” he whispers hotly into his ear. The others can hear him, of course, as he had intended it to be. Arthur will most likely agree if his friends push him into it. He may not admit it, but he’s such a pushover when it comes to people he loves, contrary to what he always tell Alfred when the teenager remarks how loyal he is when it comes to people he consider his family. Alfred hopes in heart that one day, Arthur will treat him as one as well.

Arthur finally pays him attention, the words making Arthur turn his head towards Alfred’s as he raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I thought your school is filled with a bunch of homophobes.” _And your father doesn’t like that his only child is gay and probably won’t be going to law school._

Alfred knows of the risks, but ever since he met Arthur and his friends and gotten involved in the LGBT community, he started to think of things differently.

He knows that there will always be hate, that there are people in school who already resent him for being who he is, thanks to Robert---he jerked the guy off once then called him a faggot later on as he was getting ready to go home. Figures. Then he had the gall to follow him into the bar where he and Arthur hangs out, calls him slurs in Arthur’s company as well as the rest of the gays that were around.

Of course, Alfred tells him off, made sure to tell the whole community how Robert is a hypocritical fuck for letting “this faggot” jerk him off—hand movements and all. Robert never talked to him after that, the weight of the humiliation must’ve been too much.

It made Alfred realise a lot of things, one of them being that hate is toxic and that he should fight it.

One of them is bringing Arthur as his date to prom.

And who doesn’t want to go to prom with the person they love? It’s not usual for every teen his age to find their significant other so early in life.

So he answers Arthur with a shrug as he moves even closer to rest his head on the other’s chest, trying to listen to his heartbeat, Arthur’s hand lifting to give him room to do so and it rests on his back, a comforting warmth.

Then Arthur gently pushes him off, “No, no way in hell.” He says to his face, throwing a bill on the table as he does so and prepares to leave.

“Friday, 5 pm--don’t be late!” Alfred shouts at him as he walks to the exit, smile fixed in his face as he watched Arthur wave lazily back, as if shooing him off.

“Prom, huh?” Antonio says, eager for a gossip.

“So it’s that time of the year again. Times sure do fly fast if you’re busy.” Alfred watches the three talked amongst themselves for a moment, and then he joins in on the conversation by asking, “How did your proms went?”

Their reminiscing of the past stops into a halt and they stare at Alfred in such a way that it left them stuck-still and wide-eyed. Then they share looks amongst each other and bursts into a fit of laughs.

“What do you think, Sunshine?” Alfred shrugs.

When it appears to be that they wouldn’t get an interesting answer from the teen, Gilbert moves from his seat to plop himself next to him, his arm wrapping around Alfred’s shoulder and he gives him a comforting hug with Alfred’s head to Gilbert’s chest and hand absently patting him in the head.

“Don’t worry Sunshine, who knows, maybe there’s still something in Arthur’s little black gay heart and he might just come in like a knight in shining armour and sweep you off your feet.” Gilbert winks.

Alfred couldn’t help but giggle because he knows Arthur would never do that.

Not to him, anyway.

 

                Arthur told himself that he’s only doing this because he’s got nothing to do.

Then, two hours late, he swaggers inside the fancy venue in his tailor-made suit—rushed, since he had the fitting done just yesterday afternoon, after hours of walking back and forth around clothing stores,  wondering if he should just rent one or dig around his closet for something acceptable to wear. There will only be teenagers and bunch of school teachers on their cheap rented dresses and suits, anyway. He doubts any of them can imagine how much one of his plenty designer shirts costs more than twice their salaries.

In the end, Arthur says fuck it and dumps his fag to be crushed on the heel of his shoe at the sidewalk, then walks to the nearest shop that offered tailor-made suits. He had to pay double for the rush job but he doesn’t mind.

His confident smile---shit-eating grin, more like, he hears Francis’ voice in his head say in exasperation---widens when he notices the attention being diverted to himself, then it widens some more when he sees Alfred, slouching at one of the empty tables, his suit crumpled with his cousin at his side, trying to console him maybe. It didn’t take long for his cousin to notice him, and pull Alfred’s attention from his own misery towards the cause himself.

When he sees that bright smile in place, Arthur thinks, yes, he doesn’t mind because it was worth it.

It’s as if someone has finally watered a wilting plant, with how Alfred suddenly bounced back up from being sad and miserable in his seat to being bubbly and happy and bright again. There was a reason why Arthur’s peers liked to call him Sunshine.

Then Alfred’s on him, Arthur feeling the air leave his lungs when the teen jumps into his awaiting arms, opened wide exaggeratedly---it was cheesy---that would make Arthur gag on a regular day. But not today, when Alfred wraps his arms around him and looks at him with those eyes and with that smile.

                “I thought you said ‘no way in hell’?” Alfred whispers to his lips when they put their heads close together, his breath ghosting over Arthur’s face that makes him want to kiss him silly.

But he stops, and instead replies, as he pulls off his red scarf to put over Alfred’s neck instead and uses the ends of the fabric to pull him even closer, “You want to piss off the homophobes, don’t you?”

Alfred’s face brightens, his smile reaching up to his eyes, making them sparkle as they gaze into Arthur’s own.

They danced, and then somewhere in the middle, they kissed.

It was the best night of Alfred Jones’ life, and Arthur gets to see it.

 

                When prom was over, Alfred walks him to the parking lot, the smile still etched on his beautiful face, his hands wrapped in Arthur’s, warm and perfect with the scarf still around Alfred’s neck---a gift from Arthur.

They kiss through the driver’s seat’s window goodbye, after Alfred refused the offer to be driven home---his mother will be picking him up soon with Matthew, he said. Mrs. Jones was way more accepting than Alfred’s father, even though she still had a long way to go, but Arthur supposes at least the woman tries. So he lets the teen be.

He found himself smiling, as he watches through the side mirror in his car how the other walked away, to go find his cousin before calling his mother to be picked-up when he notices a figure coming up not too far behind Alfred, a wooden bat resting on its shoulder.

His eyes widen, panic rising.

He jumps out of the car and runs, shouting Alfred’s name as he does so, but he was a second too slow.

Alfred looks back with a question on his face, before noticing the figure behind him, who immediately swung his bat to hit Alfred’s head with a resounding crack. Alfred immediately crumples to the ground with the blow, and Arthur feels his veins flood with ice when he heard the crack.

Followed by another, and another.

He finds himself screaming as he runs faster and by the time he reaches the assailant, whom he distantly recognises at that kid from before, he finds his body running on its own. He kicks the bastard away and steals his bat before using it to beat his legs angrily until he hears cracks and wails and sobs from the other as they roll in the ground in pain.

The next thing he knows he falls on his knees right next to Alfred’s crumpled form, red and bloody and wet.

“No, no, no, no…” He finds himself muttering, pulling Alfred close. “You can’t do this, no, no...”

When Alfred’s body does nothing but lay limp against his arms, his breathing weak and faint, he grabs for his phone with his shaking hands. He can barely see the digits as he dials for 911, with all this blood in his hands, his voice had never felt so shaky and low since he was a boy.

Then his vision blurs as tears fall from his eyes and his throat hurts.

He was screaming.

 

                Mrs. Jones comes into the hospital an hour later, the commotion already died down. She finds Arthur in one of the seats in the hallway, staring at the white walls with swollen eyes as he grasps a red shirt that once was white. It was Alfred’s shirt, stained with his own blood. As red as the scarf Arthur wrapped around his neck that night.

Alfred was settled in one of the private wards, his head wrapped in gauze and a tank stuck to his throat to keep air going through his lungs. He lost too much blood.

Arthur doesn’t seem to notice Mrs. Jones settling in the seat next to him, her eyes as pained as Arthur, tears threatening to fall. She wasn’t there to see the blood, wasn’t there to hold Alfred in Arthur’s arms as he feel him die the longer the ambulance took time to come. She wasn’t there to see his son get his head bashed in with a bat until his brain stains the concrete floors.

But Mrs. Jones is Alfred’s mum. She hurt as much as Arthur did, and so she does what she can only do at the moment, as they wait. She held Arthur to her chest, run her hands to Arthur’s back and pat his hair as a mother would while Arthur continued to sob, his hands, sticky with blood grasping that the bloodied shirt tighter to his chest.

“It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life,” Arthur wheezes out.


End file.
